


Birthday Bandits

by evoboo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evoboo/pseuds/evoboo
Summary: A day out to celebrate Jeritza's birthday is interrupted by bandits.  Enter stage left the Death Knight.
Relationships: Balthazar von Adalbrecht | Balthus von Albrecht/Jeritza von Hrym
Comments: 9
Kudos: 6





	Birthday Bandits

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Jeritza!!!

The Death Knight pivoted quickly, his scythe arcing with unerringly precise control regardless of its impressive size and weight. The bandit fell silently under its unkind ministration - likely before he was even aware of what it was that hit him.

“Pathetic.” The Death Knight intoned, impatiently kicking aside the dismembered corpse as he strode forward, his cold eyes already scanning the burning building for his next victim while simultaneously ignoring the wall of intense heat that was radiating from the rapidly surging inferno.

“It’s clear now, Jez. I reckon they are all dead. We should get out of here before the whole fucking barn comes down on our heads.” Balthus observed gruffly as he chucked another lifeless body on the pile of the dead that the pair had created from their multitude of unfortunate foes. “Even if there _is_ anyone left hiding in a corner – they ain’t gonna survive this fire.” The brawler added, making his way to the exit - covering his face with his arm as scorching sparks erupted from a beam overhead.

The Death Knight paused momentarily, tightening his grip on the blood-slicked handle of his weapon as he concentrated his focus away from the ambient roar of the decrepit structure’s conflagration - instead fixating his heightened senses on the rapid heartbeat of the only other living being within his immediate vicinity. His eyes narrowed covetously at the sight of the sinfully unprotected back of the brute as Balthus struggled to open the heat-swollen wood of the barn door. He licked at his lower lip as he burst forward, scythe pulled back ready to swing – aiming directly at the expanse of barely contained muscle that rippled the brutes shoulders as he heaved heavily on the escape, attempting to break through.

“What the bloody fuck, Jez?” Balthus groaned, his own innate self-preservation alerting him to the incoming danger as the battle scythe skimmed the air where his head had been only seconds before. Having dropped like a stone to avoid the crescent blade – Balthus was at least relieved to see that the weapons thunderous momentum had exploded into the door and shattered the wood to splinters, very effectively freeing up the exit.

Taking advantage of the Death Knight’s failure to hit him on his first attempt, Balthus lunged for the opening, rolling out into the deserted barnyard for a good few feet before rising gracefully and sending a taunting gesture at the demon to follow, sure that he would be unable to resist his lure and thus getting him out of the rapidly disintegrating barn safely.

With a wicked hiss of pure frustration at being eluded, the Death Knight pushed his way through the broken wood, hunching himself slightly as he stalked the irritating man who was slowly backing away from him and yet who was _not_ turning a cowardly tail and running. _Why_ did he not run? The Death Knight _lived_ for the chase.

“Not had enough blood and death yet then, you oversized bully?” Balthus goaded as he continued to step backwards – mentally gauging the shortening distance between them and factoring in the range of Jeritza’s scythe. “This is _not_ how I imagined your birthday picnic was gonna go, by the way…” He added grouchily, pouting at the audacity of having his carefully arranged plans for Jeritza’s special day interrupted in such a manner. “I mean…” He added sourly. “I love killing bandit’s as much as the next guy - but I _had_ hoped that for just this _one_ day, we might manage to eat a nice meal, have a hot smooch or two and then just mosey on home for an early night and some special Balti-loving – if you catch my drift…” 

The Death Knight was now in range with his scythe positioned menacingly to strike out and his eyes shining brilliantly despite the bland cruelty of his expression. It was time for Balthus to make his move. 

The brawlers sudden and unexpected burst forward directly _towards_ the threat rather than continuing away, unbalanced the Death Knight in precisely the manner that Balthus had hoped it would. He froze only for the merest of seconds - but it allowed Balthus to duck past Jeritza and pop up behind him, where he then moved to encapsulate the man in a crushing grip. Firmly restraining the Death Knight’s arms at his sides forced the demon’s scythe to drop impotently from his hand under the explosive strength of the unanticipated manoeuvre.

“Mind you…” Balthus growled softly into the Death Knight’s ear after biting at his lobe hard enough to draw blood. “I guess we _could_ consider this little liaison to be our foreplay - if we try to ignore the whole _‘wanting to kill me’_ crap.” 

The Death Knight grunted his frustration, scowling murderously at the others lecherous words. "I thirst _only_ for your blood, you brute... not your damnable cock." The Death Knight spat in reply - his bitter fury at the man’s impudence exponentially inflamed by a sudden, overwhelming heat that pooled in his gut at Balthus’s guttural growl and the stimulatingly painful bite he’d bestowed.

“Aww, don’t be like that, honey.” Balthus cooed moved his lips in a moist, teasing path further down the Death Knight’s neck - pulling him tightly against his body and allowing one of his bucket-sized hands to grasp a stranglehold on the others exposed throat. “You’re gonna end up hurting my delicate feelings if you keep on with that kinda talk…”

“I am going to kill you.” The Death Knight managed to choke out - violently writhing in his captor’s arms, his prodigious strength allowing one of his elbows the freedom to jab viciously at Balthus’s stomach.

“Is that right, darlin’?” Balthus bit down hard on the Death Knight’s shoulder in retaliation. “Don’t seem to me like _you_ are the one currently in a position to make demands. Why don’t you just play nice for a minute until the crazy subsides, eh? Make it easier on the both of us.”

With a chillingly cold laugh, the Death Knight merely continued his jerking against the hold that the brawler had over him – confident that his superior force would wear the brute down eventually, and when _that_ happened, it would be _he_ who held the upper hand. Until then, he would just have to bide his time and listen to the other man’s constant annoying yapping and the uncomfortable shivers up his spine that seemed to accompany the brutes lips and teeth on their exploration of his pallid skin.

Balthus, however, was not a _complete_ fool. The brawler’s initial shock at the attack from the Death Knight had abated, but he was still reeling over the turn of events that had invaded into their day, seemingly out of nowhere. Keeping his hold firm, Balthus clung onto the hope that his closeness and his light, aggressive touch might temper the demon’s bloodlust down into something more manageable, allowing Jeritza to take control back. He was all too aware that he was in for a world of pain if it didn't.   
  
Despite his confident words and his continued wanton ravaging of his love's neck and shoulders, Balthus was uneasy. Until the point that the fucking bandits had attempted to accost them on their return journey from their afternoon picnic in celebration of Jeritza’s birthday – they had been having a lovely, relaxed and intimately tender day. Just taking the break away from Abyss and the war and the day to day grind – alone together – had been simply divine. 

Even the idiot’s trying to rob _them_ of all people would have become merely a farcical anecdote if it hadn’t been for the fact that one of the bastards had tried to run, which in turn stoked the primal instinct of the Death Knight into fronting in order to give chase. That bandit had led them directly back to the barn in which a much larger group of villains were roughing it out and turned on them immediately.

Balthus had seen the Death Knight fight before – on many occasions, but he had realised immediately and with absolute clarity that he had never before witnessed him properly _hunt_. The casual brutality with which he cut through the initial group of hapless bandits was stunning in its unscrupulous violence and effortless efficiency. It was electrifying and horrifically provocative all at the same time. By the time Balthus joined in, there was already a full dozen corpses surrounding the Death Knight, whose rictus grin and dead, cold glare was even more frightening than his murderous cool. It had both shaken _and_ stirred the brawler and left him with an uncommon concern that only intensified when the demons lust for blood had turned onto him. Even now, restraining the man – Balthus was caught between an uncomfortable unsureness regarding this new facet of the man that he loved more than anything else in the world and a dizzy, lustful wonder at his powerful, unforgiving demeanour. 

The Death Knight, meanwhile, was becoming furiously impatient with the stalemate that he found himself in. The brute was proving to be a more significant challenge than he had expected and was still grimly clinging onto him – holding him flush against his toned and muscular body. With a guttural grunt, the Death Knight twisted, again and again, trying hard to ram his head against the other's nose, but his throat was being squeezed too tightly by the bastard fool’s ridiculously sized hand to allow him success in the attempt. How the idiot Emile put up with this brute, _loved_ this fool… he shuddered in his disgust – grinding backwards rigorously, gritting his teeth.

Revulsion swept over him when the Death Knight became suddenly aware that his frenetic movement had caused a particular reaction in his captor and that he was currently rubbing himself firmly against it. His rage intensified with the realisation that his _own_ body was responding similarly and that his heart was thudding with a stunning irregularity in his chest, leaving him woefully lightheaded and gasping. With a beastly cry of rage, the Death Knight tore himself away in a frenzied whirlwind of overpowering energy, twisting himself around and beating his clenched fists relentlessly at the flailing brawler, his anger and abruptly potent thirst morphing into wicked brutality.

The pair fell as one in a flurry of thrusting, punching, kicking and biting – blood and pain flourishing from numerous wounds inflicted in mere moments of fevered combat. At some stage during the deadly fight, as the Death Knight slowly began to wear down his opponent –he finally saw a genuine flash of acknowledgement of his own mortality in the other’s stoic gaze. The look completely stalled the Death Knights brain, and in that odd moment, the bloodlust of the demon wholly and suddenly abated. _Why_ it did, he couldn’t say – but as the cloud of impassioned murderous intent drifted slowly away, the Death Knight was instead overtaken by a wild roar of lustful desire more powerful than he had ever felt before.

Was _this_ what Emile felt when he looked upon his brutish lover? The demon pondered the conundrum from atop Balthus’s chest, both of his hands choking the air from his throat enthusiastically. He had to admit that it felt good to have the fool entirely at his mercy, although his sudden disinclination to kill him was perplexing. It didn’t mean that he couldn’t still fuck with the brute, though.

“What death will you chose, Balthus?” The Death Knight enquired coldly. “Should I just continue to crush your throat? Allow you to slip away easily under just the touch of my hands?” He pressed harder and brought his face down closer to the gasping brawlers. “What was that, _my love?_ … Speak up now. I can’t hear you!” He smirked wickedly, then released the pressure suddenly, bringing his lips crashing into the others instead and continuing to cut off his air under the weight of his deeply sensuous kiss.

“Are you fucking with me?” Balthus managed to pant out as soon as he was allowed respite and air by the man riding his chest. His look was incredulous as the Death Knight pulled back languidly, his mocking smile fixed on puffy broken lips.

“Perhaps.” Curiosity had the Death knight’s hands roaming the brawler's chest, pushing up at the fabric of his shirt to expose the heavily toned musculature underneath. “Perhaps I simply mean to kill you _after_ I have taken my fill of you.” He added significantly as he grasped hold of one of Balthus’s nipples and twisted it hard, his pleasure at the rough gasp that the man couldn’t prevent from escaping enflaming his desire even further. “That sound. Make it again.” He demanded, his brow furrowing as he twisted a second time at Balthus’s nipple – harder. He revelled in the low growl that he teased forth, then after a moments consideration, he moved to bite instead of twist, which just increased the volume of the brutes throaty moan.

The damned heat was becoming utterly unbearable, but in a sudden moment of clarity, the Death Knight realised that at least some of it was billowing from the burning barn that now creaking ominously as more and more pieces of timber were falling and debris were raining down over an ever-increasing area. Balthus seemed to become aware of the risk at the same time that the Death Knight did.

“Maybe we should move back a bit?” the brawler suggested tentatively, trying to shake some cognitive thought back into his lust-filled mind. 

The idea was just a little too late, however. Even as he spoke, the roof of the barn finally collapsed in on itself, sending sparks and embers flying in all directions. The Death Knight was the first to react, pulling Balthus with him bodily as he rolled quickly, tumbling over and over as they attempted to put more distance between themselves and the falling inferno. Crashing to a halt at the fence at the perimeter of the yard, the Death Knight found himself protectively covering Balthus’s body with his own. Scowling, he lifted himself up and huffed, although he remained straddled over the other man’s lap, gazing at him with an unreadable expression.

Balthus stared back at the sulking Knight, a shit-eating grin suddenly plastering itself to his face.

“Hey, Kitten, seems it _was_ my cock you wanted after all!” He teased, probably unwisely. “Not that I can blame you for that. It _is_ remarkable, after all.”

“I only wish to kill you.” The Death Knight replied harshly, although there was no conviction behind his words.

Balthus bucked his hips suggestively. “Are you sure about that?” He taunted playfully. “The screaming erection in your pants suggests otherwise…”

The Death Knight’s hands instantly found Balthus’s neck again, his face furious. “You are a fool.” He asserted sourly. “Do you _want_ to die, brute? I can spill your blood as easily as any of those pathetic bandits who challenged us earlier, I can crush the…” His words were cut off as Balthus pulled him down into a bruising kiss, his teeth nipping at the demon’s swollen lips as his tongue plundered the other’s hot mouth.

“You were saying…?” Balthus inquired politely when he relinquished the kiss, his eyes hooded and intense.

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime.”

The Death Knight groaned softly, somehow finding that he was grinding himself down instinctively on the brute’s lap – the friction almost unbearable against his constricted member. With sudden urgency, he reached down to free himself from his binds, but the hands of the brute caught hold of his and held them in place.

“Emile would be mortified to be entirely exposed in so public and filthy a place,” Balthus said quietly, sitting himself up and turning the strangely compliant Death Knight so that he was seated on his lap with his back pressed tight to the brawler's chest. Letting go of the Knight’s hands, Balthus moved his to the man’s stomach, lifting his shirt slightly to run large calloused fingers across the firm muscles of his abdomen with the tenderest of touches before dipping down to trace light patterns over the other’s straining cock.

“B-Balthus. Please.” 

The brawler smiled as he raised a hand to the Death Knights chin and angled his head to kiss down his jaw, caressing at the soft, flushed skin of his cheek. His other hand deftly unlaced the ties of his trousers, instantly creating blessed relief at the additional space afforded to the other man’s tight rigidity.

The Death Knight physically recoiled when Balthus’s fingers finally ran softly over his exposed, sensitive head – instantly overwhelmed by the heady rush of pleasure that the simple action provided. Within seconds though, he was pushing eagerly against the man’s palm as it explored deeper, teasing first with tickles and then with a rougher grip that drove the air straight from the Death Knight’s lungs.

“Harder.” He demanded, arching his back against Balthus’s chest to seek the stimulation he needed. “Balthus. More!” He ordered forcibly, pouting when his request wasn’t immediately granted.

“Impatient, ain’t you,” Balthus grunted, but his tone was amused, and he gamely raised both his tempo and the pressure significantly. “Is that any better?” He asked merrily.

“Shut up and concentrate, brute.”

Balthus chuckled and nipped at the man’s shoulder, then let out a small huff of surprise when the Death Knight suddenly turned himself around on his lap, his eyes glinting dark and as he stared up at the brawler. With quick efficiency, the demon unlaced Balthus’s pants and took told of _his_ engorged manhood with a satisfied grunt.

It was impossible to say who initiated the kiss that seared with delicious intensity and left both of them gasping. As they continued to pump at each other with accelerated velocity and vigour, the Death Knight wound his other hand hard into Balthus’s hair and tugged mercilessly, pulling his head back so that he could bite heavily at his neck, drawing blood with his bruising attack.

“I _told you_ I wanted your blood.” The demon smirked, his lips stained with the ruby liquid, elbowing the brute hard in the ribs wickedly and then luxuriating in the growling groan that rumbled from deep inside his lover's chest. 

All conversation ceased as the two men became lost in the sensations they were awarding each other. It was hard and erratic – an experience entirely grounded in the quickly developing and changing needs that devoured them both. Mouths and teeth tore at each other, hands drew tiny trails of blood wherever they passed, and each kept up a blistering pace of friction and pressure to the other’s cock as their bodies built up towards release.

Both of them tensed instinctively when the last remnants of the bandit barn collapsed in on itself with an unholy crash, but their gaze never left the other, and their pace and intensity never wavered. Eventually, the Death Knight dropped his head to Balthus’s shoulder to moan quietly into his ear that he was close. The brute nodded his complete agreement, and as the Death Knight gripped onto him tightly, first one and shortly after - the other - reached their climax in a mess of incoherent praise and breathless exhaustion.

The Death Knight fell hard against Balthus’s chest, allowing the brawler to gather him in his arms and hold him as they rode out their completion pressed tightly together. By the time he looked up at Balthus again, to press his lips gently against the other’s – it was Emile who was fronting, a warm and contented smile on his face.

“You were entirely correct, Balthus,” Emile said when they finally broke apart to catch their breath. “It is utterly _mortifying_ to have committed so lewd an act in so public a place, and I am absolutely filthy to boot.”

“The Death Knight was kinda insistent…” Balthus groaned. “Give a man a break, darlin’, the old bastard almost took my head off with that fancy-arsed scythe of yours’s before he finally became obsessed with my stunning hotness instead. Personally, I prefer the loving to the fighting. Especially when keeping my head on my shoulders is at stake.”

“You are right.” Emile agreed very quietly. “In that moment and for a short while after – he _was_ intent on killing you. I… am sorry, my love – in that deep a bloodlust, I am powerless to stop him.”

“Hey now, It’s all good!” Balthus insisted, rising to his feet and offering Emile a hand. “We are both just fine, and the bandits are dead… and we can get home now and continue this _interesting_ interlude in the peace and security of our own place!”

“After a nice long bath.” Emile agreed.

“We can bath later, honey – we are only gonna get even dirtier if I have my way!” Balthus smirked happily.

“We can bath later _as well!_ ”

“Two baths?” Balthus grumbled. “Well, that ain’t nothing but a waste of water.”

“I will be accompanying you on both occasions.” Emile raised an eyebrow at his companion.

“You will? Hmm.” Balthus broke out his best shit-eating grin as he stuck an arm around Emile, and they started walking towards the road. “Have I ever told you how very much I _love_ baths?” He asked innocently.

“No dear, I am entirely sure that you have never mentioned it.” Emile smiled.

“Well, I absolutely do now!” Balthus laughed. “Happy birthday, darlin’,” He added cheerfully as they began their walk home.


End file.
